sten to me."

"I will listen to you, Miss Percival," stammered the Abbe.

"I am rich, Monsieur le Cure, I am very rich, and to speak frankly I
love my wealth very much-yes, very much. To it I owe the luxury which
surrounds me, luxury which, I acknowledge--it is a confession--is by no
means disagreeable to me. My excuse is that I am still very young; it
will perhaps pass as I grow older, but of that I am not very sure.
I have another excuse; it is, that if I love money a little for the
pleasure that it procures me, I love it still more for the good which
it allows me to do. I love it--selfishly, if you like--for the joy
of giving, but I think that my fortune is not very badly placed in my
hands. Well, Monsieur le Cure, in the same way that you have the care of
souls, it seems that I have the care of money. I have always thought, 'I
wish, above all things, that my husband should be worthy of sharing this
great fortune. I wish to be very sure that he will make a good use of
it with me while I am here, and after me, if I must leave this world
first.' I thought of another thing; I thought, 'He who will be my
husband must be some one I can love!' And now, Monsieur le Cure, this is
where my confession really begins. There is a man, who for the last two
months, has done all he can to conceal from me that he loves me; but I
do not doubt that this man loves me. You do love me, Jean?"

"Yes," said Jean, in a low voice, his eyes cast down, looking like a
criminal, "I do love you!"

"I knew it very well, but I wanted to hear you say it, and now I entreat
you, do not utter a single word. Any words of yours would be useless,
would disturb me, would prevent me from going straight to my aim, and
telling you what I positively intend to say. Promise me to stay there,
sitting still, without moving, without speaking. You promise me?"

"I promise you."

Bettina, as she went on speaking, began to lose a little of her
confidence, her voice trembled slightly. She continued, however, with a
gayety that was a little forced:

"Monsieur le Cure, I do not blame you for what has happened, yet all
this is a little your fault."

"My fault!"

"Ah! do not speak, not even you. Yes, I repeat it, your fault. I am
certain that you have spoken well of me to Jean, much too well. Perhaps,
without that, he would not have thought--And at the same time you have
spoken very well of him to me. Not too well--no, no--but yet very well!
Then, I had so much c